


philtatos

by sinta



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Blood, does the 'major character death' part still count if yall know the iliad story, i am so! thirsty! for sunhak content!, lapslock, putting it anyway dfdnfns, the song of achilles au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 01:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13156599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinta/pseuds/sinta
Summary: (n.) - most beloved.(Haknyeon is tired of playing these cards, but he doesn't know what it's like to lose.)





	philtatos

**Author's Note:**

> he lloooo i am clearly thirsty for sunhak content n i thought making sunhak as patrochilles was a good ideaso here i am !! stole some lines from the book oop . but anyway! hope you enjoy this aa
> 
> (THIS IS HONESLT Y SUCH A MESS IM SRRY)

**i.**

a truth: no one has ever tried to take anything away from you.

(some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouth.)

you would be angry, you think, because you've known your entire life what it's like to have everything you've ever wanted.

it's a sudden crash in the system, a loop hole, an aberration when you see sunwoo lying on the ground, a flash of red where there shouldn't be. so you slip into the crowd, shoving where you can't just slip in, elbowing where you can't shove ( _not even in the least bit sorry_ ), _sunwoo sunwoo sunwoo_ the only thing rolling from your tongue, until you reach him and there's so much blood and _fuck_. 

someone shouts ( _maybe it's you_ ), and you don't bother fighting down the tears that can't seem to stop, and you weep until there's nothing left, a hollow where real feelings used to be.

"haknyeon," someone calls out.

you don't answer.

"haknyeon."

"who did this?"

"hector."

_he will die,_  you think, and you must have said it out loud because _tomorrow_ , they tell you. _tomorrow, you can._

(this and this and this.

a part of you wishes you'd die instead.)

 

**ii.**

_there is no one like you_ , sunwoo had said.

you know this, you know this right down to your demigod bones, have taken the prophecy to heart for as long as you can remember to breathe it, but. it becomes different when sunwoo says it. it gives you a purpose in a way it never has before, makes it matter for all it's worth.

something blooms in your chest, a viscous feeling seeping through, and it's anything but heavy. it's giddy, a heart-stutter, missing a beat despite how familiar you are with the inner workings of your heart.

(this and this and this.)

sunwoo taught you how to skip rocks on the water, watching you grin until your cheeks hurt (and him grinning back; happiness is a good look on him, you realize). he would watch you play the lyre, corners of his mouth in a slight upturn when he thinks you're not paying attention.

"play again," he would say, and he'd look at you as you play, fingers deftly working on the strings.

_there is no one like you, haknyeon._

there is no one like sunwoo, either.

 

**iii.**

he knelt in front of you the first time you met—passive, submissive, afraid.

you watched him get up and shuffle forward in muted fear, half a prince in the way he acts but aware that he doesn't belong here. you pretended to not pay attention, feigning disinterest.

"what's your name?" you asked.

he didn't answer, probably steeling himself against the (fake) apathy you set up for yourself.

"what's your name?" you said, louder.

"sunwoo."

_sunwoo. sun-woo_. you said it under your breath, liking the way it rolled off your tongue.

you looked at him, and he blinked back, eyes telling you something you can't decipher. ( _at least, not yet._ ) a curl falls into your eyes and you blow it away.

(you'd keep pretending.)

"my name is haknyeon. welcome to phthia."

 

**iv.**

you chose him as your companion.

_he's surprising_ , you'd tell your father when he asks why, because he's been pushing boys towards you, those he deems worthy of being a companion, and he isn't sure if sunwoo (a boy stained with murder) is enough.

sunwoo is different, so very unlike the other boys who only get close to you to show off, to be chosen, to have bragging rights as the prince's brother-in-arms. he's reserved, almost uncaring, bleeding into the background noise.

(you think, then, that he doesn't do things just for the sheer glory of it all, and that's what you want.)

you let him see through you, underneath layers of regal poise and dignified regard, the born-into-royalty act you keep playing. you don't force down the wide grin that splits your face into two, the fleeting feeling of youth that allows you to jump from bed to bed, to juggle things with your eyes closed.

you tell him about your mother, the prophecy, about something-or-other that happened that day, about drills, about music lessons. he says the right things at the right time, almost scripted.

(it becomes easy, then, for you to cut through the words he says, just so he can let himself be genuine, unafraid, unfiltered.

he tells you about the beach one night, about the crystal waters and the sand between his toes.

you smile.)

 

**v.**

_do you want to be a god, haknyeon?_

yes.

(no.)

you're not so sure. 

a hero, though, a hero is what you want to be. you know you could do it, knowing you'll be undefeated in battle, the burning gold of power evident in the way you fight and carry yourself, the prophecy ringing true and buzzing in your ears.

you're no heracles, but a spiking feeling in your gut tells you you're better.

_do you want to be a god?_

 

**vi.**

somehow girls just aren't so appealing to you.

you hear the other boys talk about their softness, their curves, the way they melt like cream underneath their hands.

(you hear it, but you don't listen.)

"that girl—do you like her?" sunwoo asks you one night.

"why? do you?" it's not a no. (but it's not a yes either.)

"no," he says, "i meant, do you want—"

you move towards him and lean over him in his cot. his ears are tinged with red. "i don't want to talk about her," you say, "good night."

(later on in the summer, he kisses you, and everything clicks into place—you don't like girls because you like _sunwoo_ , and it feels so right—

sweet as the figs you used to taste.)

 

**vii.**

your mother sends you away to chiron, and you're taught what he knows—medicine, hunting, music—entertainment and survival.

but the most important thing you learn doesn't come from him.

you hold sunwoo's face, tracing your finger on his jaw, his cheekbones, his nose. he breaks out into a smile and you love it, you do; just not enough to kiss it off his face. 

you draw your fingertips on his chin, his throat, his collarbones. you learn the lines of his body every time you hold him close, tender and still and you see him close his eyes, mouth set in a half-smile. content. easy. it fills you with warmth.

you learn that his mouth fits so well against yours, that you fit together in all the right places, that you feel happiest when you weave your arms around his waist. 

this and this and this.

you love him this way.

( _philtatos_ , you tell him. _what does it mean_ , he says.

"most beloved. that's you.")

 

**viii.**

war is never kind to anyone who walks in its path.

it's the way the blood gets under your nails, the way your hair sticks to your forehead, the slick of sweat in your palms and the weariness that weighs you down when you rest. gentle hands becoming deadly, callouses on your palms almost becoming markers of those who've fallen.

a spear rests on your lap.

"i left one son alive," you tell sunwoo. "the eighth, so that their line won't die."

and it hurts to see sunwoo like this, as if his heart is both full and empty. as if he's terrified of you. 

he isn't smiling, not quite, but his eyes say otherwise—a small eye smile. a smile nonetheless.

"i'm glad," he says.

 

**ix.**

you get to know the trojans, soon enough—paris, hector, their army.

agamemnon would ask you when you would face the prince of troy.

this, you think: you don't kill for the sake of killing, but you've perfected the act of being insidious, cunning where you can't seem to reach, wit and pride getting the best of you.

you smile, a hint of devious and raw on your lips—

"what has hector ever done to me?"

\--

( _"who did this?"_

_"hector."_ )

 

**x.**

"name one hero who was happy."

"i can't."

"you can't."

"i'll tell you a secret."

"what is it?"

"i'll be the first. swear it."

"why?"

"because you're the reason."

(sunwoo sunwoo sunwoo _, you say, chanting his name like a prayer, a song. you're covered in blood and grief and it hurts, everything hurts—_

_you don't know how to lose._

do you want to be a god, haknyeon?

_yes. yes yes yes._

_heroes aren't meant for happy endings.)_

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [twitter](http://twitter.com/sunwoolovebot/)!!!!! <33


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